


drunk in love

by aghamora



Series: Flaurel Ficlets [1]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Drunk Dialing, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 22:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4683332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aghamora/pseuds/aghamora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s half past midnight, and he’s locking up for the night when he gets her message.</p>
<p> <i>1 New Message. From: Laurel</i></p>
<p> <i>-I HATE YOU AND YOUR STUPID BEARD</i></p>
<p>Frank raises an eyebrow. Well, that’s a drunk text if he’s ever seen one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	drunk in love

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: maybe write something about frank finding laurel drunk and helping her?

It’s half past midnight, and he’s locking up for the night when he gets her message.

_1 New Message. From: Laurel_

_-I HATE YOU AND YOUR STUPID BEARD_

Frank raises an eyebrow. Well, that’s a drunk text if he’s ever seen one.

_-What did the beard ever do to you?_

Laurel doesn’t answer at first, and so he locks the front door behind him and heads across the street to his car. Almost as soon as he takes a seat, his phone lights up with an incoming call. Laurel’s name flashes across the screen.

“Laurel?” he answers, putting it up to his ear.    

She giggles, and that’s all he needs to hear to know she is, indeed, drunk off her ass. Laurel never giggles.

“It’s me! How’d you know?”

“Lucky guess.”

“Anyway, I called… I called to say that I’m coming over. Now. Right-” A hiccup cuts her off. “Right now. I wanna see you.”

He frowns. “Are you drunk?”

“Are _you_ drunk?” she slurs.

“Stone-cold sober, unfortunately. Where are you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would, actually. You at a bar? Which one?”

“I don’t know. I think…” she drifts off. There’s noise in the background for a moment. “The Pa… The Pra-”

“The Parlour? In Fishtown?” He knows the place well. Frank exhales sharply. “Look, just – hold on. I’m coming to get you.”

“No! Nononono, I’m fine to drive, _really_ -”

He ignores that and jams the key in the ignition. “Don’t go anywhere. I’m on my way.”

 

\--

 

Surprisingly enough, it turns out that Laurel is a handsy drunk. Also kind of clingy.

She’s right where she said she would be: standing out front of the bar, shivering and having trouble standing. The instant he steps out of his car and onto the sidewalk, her eyes light up, and she runs over to him, flinging herself into his arms.

“Frank! I’m so happy you’re here.” She pauses, burying her face into his shoulder and inhaling deeply. “Mmm. You smell good. Like… like a log cabin. A sexy log cabin.”

He chuckles. “Good to know. Now c’mon, I’m taking you home.”

“Take me home with you,” she breathes. “Has anyone told you how good you look in a suit?”

Reluctantly, Frank manages to wrench himself away. “I’m taking you home, to _your_ place. Get in, before I change my mind.”

It takes a few more minutes of persuasion, consisting of a mostly one-sided conversation in which he tries to reason with her and she only responds with slurred, borderline infantile babbling, but eventually he manages to convince Laurel to get in his car by promising to take her to his place, and then switching directions and heading to hers instead.

Thankfully, she’s too hammered to notice.

He helps her stumble out of the car and into the building, until he finds himself confronted by another obstacle: the stairs.

“I can walk, Frank!” she asserts after he offers to help her climb them.

“You sure?”

“I’m perfectly fine. Never… never been better.”

She takes one step. Then two. She makes it to the third before she stumbles, and almost faceplants onto the fourth.

After that, Frank gives in and helps her, picking her up bridal-style and carrying her up. He sets her down in front of her door, and then holds out his hand for her keys.

“If you want them,” she laughs, pulling out the front of her tights like she’s planning on dropping them inside, “you have to come get them.”

He rolls his eyes and snatches them away. “Not happening. Now which one is it?”

Laurel doesn’t answer. She just wraps her arms around him from behind and tries to kiss his neck as he rummages through her keys, trying each until he finds the right one. Frank pushes open the door, and the moment it closes behind them, Laurel is all over him again, kissing him, her hands going for his belt.

“Hey, hey,” he chides. “Stop. You’re drunk.”

She looks at him like that’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard. “I am not _drunk_.”

Laurel moves in again. He pulls back, and she looks hurt.

“What? Y-you don’t… you don’t want me?”

“’Course I want you. But you only want this because you’re wasted, and believe it or not, that’s not my style.”

“Nuh uh! I-I want to have sex with you when I’m sober too!” she whines.

Frank smirks and urges Laurel down onto her bed, kneeling in front of her to take off her boots.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Now lay down and sleep this off. You’re gonna have one hell of a hangover in the morning.”

“I hate you,” she declares with pout. “You’re no fun.”

“Not tonight. Maybe some other time. But tell me, is there any particular reason you ended up in a shitty bar in Fishtown getting blackout drunk alone?”

“I just… me and Kan had a fight. It was dumb. A-and I-” she hiccups. “I wanted to forget him, and you – God, _especially_ you. You’re all I ever think about. And I don’t know why, because you’re such a fucking _asshole_.”

Frank chuckles. “You’re great at flirting, princess.”

“I want you. Please,” she begs, and grabs onto his tie. “Please, Frank.”

He ignores her, stands, and makes for the door. For a moment he thinks she has stayed where she is, until he hears the pattering of footsteps behind him. He turns, and there is Laurel again, all roaming hands and hazy eyes.

He clenches his jaw. “Go to bed.”

“Not unless you come with me.”

“Listen to me,” he growls, irritated. “You wanna sleep with me when you’re sober, fine. Come talk to me then. But it’s late, and I’m tired as hell, and if we have sex now, you won’t remember a second of it – and that’s not how I want this to go down. So lay down on the damn bed, Laurel. Go to sleep.”

She blinks. Then, the look of surprise morphs into a smile.

“You’re really hot when you’re angry.”

Finally, after another solid fifteen minutes of trying to jump his bones, Laurel plods over to her bed and lays face down on it, like a child sent to her room without dinner. After she hasn’t moved for a minute, Frank creeps over, and finds her out cold, her breathing deep and steady.

He rolls her over carefully onto her side, places a few things on her nightstand, and leaves her like that, closing the door behind him as quietly as he can manage.

 

\--

 

In the morning, Laurel wakes up to the blinding sunlight, and a splitting headache.

She winces and rolls onto her side – and that’s when she sees it.

Her phone, keys, and wallet are all arranged neatly on her nightstand. Next to them sits a bottle of Advil and a tall glass of water. There’s a note, too, and she squints to read it with a frown.

_Morning, sunshine. Thought you might need these._

_Thank me later._

_-Frank_

**Author's Note:**

> Currently taking prompts for Flaurel askbox ficlets over on [tumblr](http://laurelcasfillo.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
